


The Gun Still Rattles

by gaysquared



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Addiction, Birthdays, Character Study, Detox, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Healing and Recovery basically, Implied Past Suicidal Ideation, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Sobriety, traumaversaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 02:18:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16714681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaysquared/pseuds/gaysquared
Summary: It’s the five year anniversary of Cole’s death. Hank is one year sober.// Could be taken as shippy if you like, but otherwise it’s just a man learning to have friends again.





	The Gun Still Rattles

**Author's Note:**

> I really... wasn’t planning on writing this. I’ll explain more at the end, but this really just decided it wanted to be written and here it is, a couple hours later.
> 
> Obvious trigger warning for discussions of alcoholism, addiction, mental illness, past death, past suicidal ideation, and also detoxing. Heed the tags!
> 
> Title is from the song Spirits by The Strumbellas, which I also listened to while writing this.

He gets his one year chip in August, 2040. A new decade. A new beginning.

Every day after the ceremony in AA, it’s a pleasant weight in his pocket. It may be cheaply made, just a token, a symbol, but still he finds himself appreciating it. Even on the hard days; the days Connor can clearly see him fidgeting, but doesn’t say anything. Just sneaks an extra pastry and a coffee onto Hank’s desk when he isn’t looking; indulges him in caffeine, even after 2 in the afternoon, which the android would usually advise against.

Hank can never help but smile, thumbing at the chip in his pocket. Depending on what kind of day it is, he’ll take Connor up on his offer to get dinner after work (even though the android doesn’t eat) or he’ll turn him down. Connor never seems offended when he does; a little worried, maybe, but he always just nods, and there’s something there that makes Hank’s chest feel tight. It’s trust, he realizes, months later. 

 

His birthday comes and passes. 55; and shit, he’s getting old. Closer to retirement, he supposes, but he’s not even sure what he’d do with all that free time. Then the leaves start to turn yellow, and Hank almost feels himself thinking he likes the way the weather is getting cooler, the way the air tastes different in the morning, and then it’s October. It’s October, and he wakes up, and doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He goes into work like usual. Doesn’t let his body suspect anything is different, that anything is changing. Everything is normal, he insists. “I’m fine,” he says to Connor, and Tina, and Jeffrey, and even Sumo when he comes home one day and slams the door a little too hard. The Saint Bernard simply gives him a small bark and a look, and pads away to nestle into Hank’s pile of dirty clothes in his bedroom. 

The way Connor scans him when Hank walks into work one morning about a week later gets to him. He gripes. He’s rude. Connor looks a bit apologetic, deciding not to press him. Hank doesn’t even bother looking at the file for their current case; he just stares blankly at the monitor, hand in his pocket, holding the chip so tight in his grasp it digs into his skin and his knuckles go white. 

 

It’s October 11th.

It’s October 11th and he doesn’t even want to get out of bed. He does anyway, because he’s been told over and over again, ‘ _Hank_ , _you_ _need_ _routine_ , _you_ _need_ _a_ _schedule_ , _especially_ _on_ _days_ _like_ _this_.’  _Days_ _like_ _this_ , he thinks, and sighs. Pushes it away.

He gets to work an hour late, but nobody says anything. Reed sneers at him when he walks in, and Connor is sitting quietly at his desk already, like always. Hank is louder than he means to be as he drops his shit off on his desk, too loud to seem like he’s emotionally stable; that he’s sure of. He can’t bring himself to care.

Connor looks up at him when he sits down, gives him a polite smile. 

“Good morning, Hank,” he says. It took a while, but Connor finally stopped calling him lieutenant; unless he was trying to tease him, of course. “Josie’s is having a special on pie today. We should get dinner there tonight; if you’d like, of course.”

Josie’s is Hank’s favorite diner; really one of the few places he likes to eat that won’t shove a beer in his face as soon as he walks in. It’s a family friendly joint, after all. Retro-themed. Hank likes it.

Still, he says, “Maybe next time, Connor. I just wanna pass out on my couch watching baseball tonight.”

Connor nods, but there’s something stiff about him, and Hank hates that he knows why. “Well, Hank,” he says, voice careful. “I’m always here if you change your mind.”

Hank finds it in himself to at least nod in response; he’s trying not to be a total monster, these days.

He attempts to ignore the openly worried look the android gives him when he gets in his car that night to drive home. Connor waves goodbye, still looking obviously concerned, but Hank just turns up the radio louder. It’s not nice, he thinks, but he doesn’t have much energy for nice today. Maybe he wishes he did, but; he doesn’t. And that’s that. 

He considers making a stop on his way home; but no. Better to just go pass out in his bed, forget he exists in sleep. _That’s_ _still_ _just_ _avoiding_ _it_ , he thinks. _That’s_ _what_ _the_ _liquor_ _was_ _for_ , _too_. _You’re_ _still_ _just_ _hiding_. Hank grunts to himself; his head needs to shut up. He just visited Cole’s grave a couple weeks ago, on the boy’s birthday. He doesn’t need to go again. 

He dumps all his shit on the couch as soon as he gets home, resigning himself to making a TV dinner and then going to bed. It’s not exactly a meal, but he digs into the slightly slimy chicken fried steak anyways. It’s something, he thinks. He could’ve just gone straight to bed.

Still, Hank finds himself sitting at his kitchen table after he’s finished. The grinding, hollow feeling in his chest is all too familiar. _This_ _is_ _when_ _you_ _call_ _your_ _sponsor_ , he reminds himself, but he can’t be bothered. Kathy’s a nice lady and all but she’s gotta be tired of putting up with his bullshit, and he hates listening to her talk about feelings and crap anyways.

He takes the sobriety chip out, placing it on the table. He stares at it; quietly, solemnly; as if it could stare back. As if it could tell him something he doesn’t know, offer some word of advice. But it’s just a cheap coin, and his eyes start to feel tired and dry. No answers come, but he knew that would happen.

What had Kathy said about days like this? _Follow_ _routine_ ; he’s done that, and pretty well, considering. _Seek_ _out_ _companionship_ ; well, okay, he’d failed there. But he just; he really does want to be alone. It’s too much. Way too much to consider sharing with another person.

 _Be_ _kind_ _to_ _yourself_. He’s not even sure where to start on that one. Hank has no clue how to even go about doing that; no clue what it even means. He’s not about to take a fuckin’ bubble bath.

 _Find_ _something_ _to_ _look_ _forward_ _to_.

He pauses, staring out his kitchen window, and then remembers. Connor’s birthday is in about a month; not the day he was created, but the day he’d woken up, become deviant. That was the day he’d chosen to celebrate, and his friends who were androids had encouraged him. Hank could admit he saw the appeal.

So that was something. Connor would be two years free, soon.

 _You_ _don’t_ _wanna_ _have_ _to_ _go_ _through_ _detox_ _again_ , _either_ , _Anderson_ , he thinks, and a shiver runs up his spine. That’s sure as hell true. The first time; god, he could barely let himself think of it. Between the vomiting, the chills, everything; he’d thought that— well, he’d hallucinated, that was the only word for it. He’d seen Cole talking to him, asking why his father had let this happen, why had he done this. He never wants to go through that again.

It’s enough, he decides, and heads to bed, even though he doesn’t really sleep. He keeps his gun locked in the safe all night.

 

He trudges through a lot of it, but the next month goes by quickly. Everything seems to go by quickly, now, except for his bad nights.

Connor’s having a party at his tiny apartment; mostly androids, and a couple people from the police department, and he insists Hank come, as well. Hank can’t bring it in him to pass it up. He hates being around people, mostly, even if they’re androids, but; he can do this for Connor.

The small apartment is littered with silly decorations, clearly meant for a toddler’s birthday, if the “2 years big” poster is any indication. It’s kind of adorable, but Hank would never admit that. Somebody’s shoved a too-small party hat onto Connor’s head, and the android is smiling, laughing even. It’s nice to see him like this. He’s casual with Hank now too, but this is an entirely different setting, and Hank can’t ignore the spark of joy it sets off in his chest.

He’s glad to find that nobody is drinking, although it’s probably to be expected; the androids don’t drink to begin with and there’s only a total of three human guests, including Hank. They’re playing games; cards, it looks like, and Connor smiles at him wider than Hank has ever seen, greeting him and ushering him to sit. 

Hank does his best to give every one a polite greeting, although he’s not sure how well of a job he does. He recognizes Markus, the android leader; that one’s easy enough, as he’s well known and they’ve had to work with him on several cases in the last couple years. A few of the other android faces are harder, but they don’t seem to mind Hank’s ignorance. They don’t even seem to mind that he’s human, even though one female android does give him a bit of a stare, but there’s no malice in it. 

He stays in the background most of the night, listening to everyone talk and laugh, but he doesn’t mind. There’s a lot of dumb jokes about how annoying it has to be for so many androids to share the same birthdays; and that one never seems to get old with the android crowd, getting told over and over again. It’s... nice. It’s happy, and cozy, and Hank isn’t sure what to do about the soft feelings it stirs up in him.

When the night is getting late, he excuses himself to the bathroom; it’s immaculate, but that’s probably because nobody ever really uses it. He finds Connor is waiting for him when he comes out.

“Hank,” Connor says, a gentle smile gracing his face. “I’m so glad you came. I really; I have to say, I don’t think I’d be where I am right now without you. I don’t know if I’d ever have become free if you hadn’t been my friend.”

Hank doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just laughs. “Alright, Con, but I wouldn’t exactly say I was a great friend to begin with. But, you know, it’s your party.”

Connor is still smiling, a little mirth in his eyes, and he says, “Still. I really am glad you came.”

“Couldn’t very well turn you down, now, could I?” Hank shakes his head. “What do you think friends are for? I gotta do something.”

Connor’s expression softens, his eyes big and open. “Yeah. Of course.” He clears his throat, the strap of his party hat still tucked under his chin. “Hank?”

“Yeah?” 

“I just wanted to say—“ Connor looks down, like he’s unsure, and Hank doesn’t know what to make of that. “I wanted to say that I know the last month; the last five years, honestly, have been hard for you.” He pauses, looking back up at Hank again, brown eyes gentle and earnest. “But I think; I think Cole would be really proud of you, if he knew. I mean; he _would_ be. I am. _I’m_ proud of you, Hank.”

Hank simply stands there for a moment, a bit blindsided. He’s lost for words entirely, no sarcastic retorts in his reach, only a quick intake of breath coming to him. Connor is staring at him, and it’s only until the tears are rolling down his cheeks Hank realizes why his face feels so hot and tight, why his chest is so heavy. 

“Thank you, Con,” he says, and he’s pulling the android in for a hug. He wraps his arms tight around Connor, holding him with all his might, and presses his face into the crook of his freckled neck. “Thank you.”

Connor seems surprised at first, but holds him right back, not saying anything;  probably because he knows it’s not necessary. He hugs Hank just as tight, sighing softly.

Hank never wants to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like my little take on Hank. 
> 
> This is more for my own coping, honestly. More triggers ahead (along the same subjects), and some personal stuff:
> 
> My grandfather was an alcoholic who committed suicide on thanksgiving four years ago. I’ve healed from it a lot, but stuff inevitably still comes up for me. November is chock full of traumatic anniversaries for me, so I definitely have a feel of where Hank is coming from. Sometimes a whole month is just trash when you have a history like that. 
> 
> I just... trauma I known personally. Addiction I don’t, but I still know it pretty well. And I just want to say there’s always hope. There’s always a path forward, even if you can’t see it. I’ve been around that block. It’s lonely and you think nobody would possibly want to help you, but there are people who will love and cherish you and help you through this, even if you haven’t met them yet. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks. It’s a tough, weird month. Sorry this was just thrown together. Hank deserves much more rumination, honestly.


End file.
